


On the Rocks

by JuliaJekyll



Series: Ineffable Husbands + Livinia [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 15th Century, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Bathing/Washing, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Excessive Drinking, Hangover, Historical References, M/M, Spanish Inquisition, Undressing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24282406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: Aziraphale finds Crowley hopelessly drunk and miserable in a cantina during the Spanish Inquisition and brings him home to look after him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Husbands + Livinia [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1417603
Comments: 22
Kudos: 117





	1. Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on book canon, in which it's mentioned that Crowley "got drunk for a week" after seeing what was going on with the Spanish Inquisition. 
> 
> I'll be honest: I'm not sure why I wrote this.

Cordoba, Spain, 1483

“Get up, Crowley.”

The voice was firm, and far too loud. His arm was being pulled. The rest of him was on the floor – how had that happened? He had a vague memory of sliding off a bench and landing in something wet, but he wasn’t sure whether that had been last night or some other night.

Definitely last night, he decided, as he felt the same wetness under his shoulder. Wine, perhaps? Ale? Spit? Urine? It hardly mattered.

“Come now, stand up,” the voice said, as strong hands moved to his shoulders to give him a push.

Stand up? Crowley could have laughed. The voice might as well demand that he sprout white wings. He could barely feel his feet, much less convince them to support him.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, you’re still drunk. Sober up, there’s a good lad.”

The word “sober” felt foreign to Crowley’s ears. He could scarcely imagine how it might feel to be so. He’d been drunk pretty much constantly for the past several days at least, though his ability to keep track of time had long since deserted him.

“Time’sss not real anyway,” he mused aloud, as he was dragged up and forced to sit down on a bench, still bent nearly double, his head hanging.

“Crowley, come now. Look at me.” There was a hand grasping his jaw, tilting his face up. He squinted at the face before him, taking in the blue eyes, the shock of pale hair, the flush of the cheekbones.

“Aziraphale?”

The blue eyes rolled. “Yes, it’s me. Now be a dear and get up. I’m taking you home.”

“Home? D’you mean Hell? Don’t wanna go there.”

“Hush!” Aziraphale leaned close and hissed in his ear. “Don’t talk like that here! Now sober up, will you?”

“Can’t.”

“Whyever not?”

“Dunno how.”

“Oh, for goodness-!” Aziraphale drew back, then Crowley felt him pull his arm over his shoulders and stand up. Crowley followed against his will, slumping in the angel’s arms. His head spun.

“Put m’down, angel, m’gonna-”

Aziraphale released him just in time for Crowley to throw up on the flagstone floor. Aziraphale muttered something distinctly un-angelic before taking Crowley under the arms again and hauling him up. “Walk,” the angel hissed in his ear, taking most of Crowley’s weight onto himself. “One foot forward, there, that’s it. I’ve got you.”

Crowley stumbled more than walked out of the cantina, Aziraphale supporting him from behind. When they emerged into the light of dawn, Crowley cringed at the brightness, squeezing his eyes shut even as the fresh air cooled his clammy face.

“Keep going,” Aziraphale urged, trying to propel him on, but Crowley was past motion. He felt his body crumple in the angel’s arms, unable to remain upright. “Oh, sod this,” Aziraphale murmured, and swept Crowley up into his arms. Surprise flickered dully at the edge of Crowley’s brain, but didn’t make it far enough to undergo conscious analysis.

Crowley’s eyes fell shut as Aziraphale carried him. His heart pulsed dully in his chest, pumping a familiar feeling of desperate love throughout his body, as the proximity to Aziraphale worked its magic. “Angel, how come you’re-”

“Shh. Don’t speak until I put you down again, do you hear me?”

“Hm-hm.” Actually, it was nice not to have to speak, or walk, for that matter. He was entirely too wasted to be particularly adept at either.

Crowley’s consciousness was as unsteady as his body as they went, so he couldn’t even guess how long it took for them to reach their destination. When they did, Aziraphale laid him down on something soft, then let go of him. Weakly, Crowley reached his hands out in the direction he’d gone. “You leavin’ already?”

“No; I’m right here.” Aziraphale helped him sit up, or get as close to it as he could in his current state, and held something cold against his lips. “Water. It’s clean. Drink.”

“No wine?”

“No. Drink.”

Crowley opened his mouth and obeyed, letting the water course down his throat. Its coolness and purity brought enough clarity to his mind to let him ask Aziraphale how he’d known where to find him.

“Livinia,” Aziraphale said simply, moving across the room again. “She told me you’d gone on a bender.”

Crowley frowned irritably as he thought of his fellow demon. “She should mind ‘er own business,” he said.

“She cares about you, as do I. You have to be more careful. Your corporation can only handle so much.”

“Don’ care ‘bout m’corporation.”

“Of course you do; don’t be ridiculous.” Aziraphale helped shift him so that he was lying down again. “Look; I’m putting this jug of water right here beside you. If you won’t sober up, then you need to get some rest. Sleep this off. In a few hours I’ll wake you up and bathe you, and we’ll find you a change of clothes. It’s time to come back to real life, Crowley. You can’t fall over yourself in cantinas every night.”

“I can.”

“You can’t, and you won’t. I won’t allow it.”

At that, Crowley’s eyes widened, and he stared at Aziraphale. “You won’t _allow_ it? You’re my boss, ‘s that it?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer, except to splash some water on Crowley’s face.

“Aaah! What’sss-”

“You’ve got vomit on you.” Aziraphale began to wipe his face with a cloth.

“You know what they’re doin’ out there, angel? You know what’s goin’ on? People burning alive. Torture. ‘S awful. An’ they think it’s ‘cause of me!”

“I know it isn’t because of you. Livinia knows it too. She said that you getting a commendation for it was, and I quote, ‘a massive crock of shit’.”

“Ssseriously fucked up, they are, humans. Ssssick. ‘M not gonna forget this.”

“None of us are going to forget this, dear.”

A sob worked its way from Crowley’s dry throat. “It’s horrible, angel.”

“I know.” Aziraphale touched Crowley’s arm. “I know. It’s hard to watch them do these things to each other.”

Crowley jerked his head in agreement and reached for the water at his side. He was suddenly feeling very thirsty.

Aziraphale held his head up and helped him drink, then set the water back on the floor. Staring up at the ceiling, Crowley suddenly remembered his manners. “Thanks, Aziraphale.”

“It’s alright.”

Crowley shifted his eyes back to the angel. Now that he was comfortable and at least marginally cleaner, he was looking at Aziraphale properly and could see how tired he looked. He had dark circles under his eyes and was paler than usual. “Angel, y’alright?” he asked.

Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hair back from his forehead, his hand warm and steady. “Let’s worry about you just now, hm? I’m here for you, Crowley. Close your eyes and rest awhile. I won’t be far away. I’m going to help you through this.”

“You’re gonna stop ‘em?”

Aziraphale sighed, his hand still stroking Crowley’s hair. It felt nice. “What they’re doing is beyond my power to stop.”

“But you’re ‘n angel.”

“I’m not all-powerful, darling. You know as well as I do how inclined toward destruction humans can be. Now go to sleep. We’ll talk about this when you’re sober, yes?”

“Yesss.” Crowley closed his eyes. Everything seemed to sway, bringing him toward the first proper rest he’d had in days. “You’ll be here?”

“I’ll be here, I promise. I won’t leave you.” Aziraphale’s fingers slid over his skin, guiding him to calm darkness.


	2. Hungover

Crowley awoke an indeterminate amount of time later, feeling as if he’d shatter into a thousand sharp-edged pieces if he so much as twitched an eyebrow. A layer of plaster seemed to lie atop him, holding even his face immobile and rendering his limbs useless. He could hear someone moving in the room, and he remembered that Aziraphale had been here, touching his forehead, brushing his hands over his hair. Or had that just been a fantasy, placed in his mind by the drink? 

No, surely not. He would still be drunk if Aziraphale hadn’t found him. 

The someone who was in the room with him came to kneel beside him, and Crowley heard the slosh of water. With a wrenching effort, he cracked his lips apart. “Aziraphale?” he whispered. 

“No, it’s me,” said a female voice, and Crowley opened his eyes to see the blurry outline of a woman with light brown hair and obsidian eyes. He squinted at her, trying to focus, and his head immediately began to ache. 

“Livinia?” It was difficult to reconcile the person he now saw with his old friend and fellow demon; this was only the second time he’d seen her outside of Hell since 1461, when she’d been discorporated fighting for the House of Lancaster in England. He brushed his tongue over his lips, trying to moisten them. “The new corporation suits you,” he said, the words seeming to rip holes in his throat. 

“Thanks for noticing.” Livinia put a damp cloth on his head. “Feeling better?” 

“No.” Crowley grimaced. “Where’s Aziraphale?” 

“He’ll be back; he went to get some more water and find you something else to wear. Believe it or not, your current clothes aren’t in the sharpest of states.” 

Crowley didn’t reply to that. Now that he wasn’t drunk anymore, embarrassment was beginning to set in. It wasn’t like Aziraphale had never seen him smashed before, but this was probably a new low. It certainly felt like one. He coughed. “Drink?” he requested. 

Livinia gave him a critical look. “I hope you mean water.” 

“Yeah.” 

Livinia dipped a ladle in the bucket of water she’d placed beside the bed and helped Crowley sit up, but as soon as he switched positions, his stomach started to churn dangerously. “Liv, I’m gonna-” 

Recognising the danger, Livinia hurriedly snapped her fingers, and a second bucket materialised in Crowley’s lap. He vomited until his throat ached, then dry-heaved a few times for good measure. Livinia didn’t even flinch, just lay another cloth on the top of his head and held the ladle of water up to give him a drink. 

Exhausted, Crowley lay back down, rubbing his lips together, trying to gather the strength to speak again. “Why’d you get Aziraphale? Why not come yourself?” 

“Two reasons. Firstly, you’re in love with him, so I figured he’d have a better chance than I would of getting you to leave. Secondly, I thought I’d spare you the humiliation of getting carried through the streets of Cordoba by a woman.” 

“I’m not in love with him.” 

“Sure.” Livinia began to examine him, looking for injuries. “I think you cut yourself when you fell in the cantina. There’s blood all over your hose.” 

Crowley shot her an angry stare. Her sanctimonious tone was starting to annoy him. As a demon, wasn’t she supposed to encourage his vices, not summon a literal angel to drag him away from them? An angel she apparently knew he had romantic feelings for, no less? “You sent him to _collect_ me,” he accused, “like I can’t take care of-”

“I _sent_ him to get you out of danger,” Livinia snapped, her black eyes flashing. “You know what they’re like, Crowley. You say one wrong thing, someone accuses you of heresy, and the Inquisitors descend. A demon drunk off his head is bound to say something wrong eventually. You’ve never been discorporated before. I have, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I did what I did to help you, and I’d do it again. I _will_ do it again, if I have to, and don’t think I won’t. Now hold still.” As he watched, she rubbed her hands together and summoned a ball of hellfire, which she held against his bruised skin. Crowley closed his eyes as the heat sank in, soothing pain he hadn’t even noticed until now. 

As Livinia healed him, he dropped his hand, skimming his fingers over the top of the water in the bucket, and brought some of it to his lips. He was terribly thirsty. 

After finishing up with his wounds, Livinia helped him sit up again, then gave him another drink. Crowley looked up at her face, lined with worry, and softened. “Thanks,” he said hoarsely. 

“Yeah, well. I’d rather not have to watch you get burned by real fire at an _auto-da-fé_.” 

Just then, the door swung open, and Aziraphale came in. “Ah, good, you’re awake,” the angel said, placing a set of fresh clothes on the chair beside the door and hauling a tub of water into the room, miraculously keeping every drop inside. “How are you feeling?” 

“Dead.” Crowley lifted a trembling hand to his head. “This is the worst hangover I’ve ever had.” 

“You forgot how to sober up,” Aziraphale said, shutting the door and snapping his fingers over the tub of water. The water began to steam. “In any case, I’ve drawn you a bath.”

“Lovely.” 

Livinia stood up and walked over to Aziraphale. She squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll remember this,” she said. 

“Not at all, dear lady. Be safe out there, yes?” 

“Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m heading back to England soon.” 

“You’re leaving, Livinia?” Crowley asked. He shot a panicked glance at the tub, then at Aziraphale. This was going in a worrying direction. 

Livinia smiled and reached for Crowley’s hand. He gave it to her, and she squeezed it. “I’ll still be around here for a while. I’ll see you again, alright? I’ll let you two…catch up.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively, then dropped Crowley’s hand and left, closing the door behind her. 

“Right,” Aziraphale said briskly, moving toward Crowley. “Let’s get you out of these filthy clothes.” 

“Angel, I-”

“Can you stand?” Aziraphale helped Crowley move so that his feet were on the floor, then crouched down and began to unlace his shoes. The sight of Aziraphale on his knees in front of him froze Crowley’s breath in his throat. Satan; he didn’t even want to think about how many times he’d imagined a similar scenario. 

_Oh, fuck. No, no, no. I am not going to get hard right now. I’m not. That is_ so _not where this is going._

Mentally, Crowley blessed Livinia. She’d obviously done this on purpose; leaving him for Aziraphale to strip and bathe. He was going to have words for her the next time he saw her. 

Crowley did not protest as Aziraphale brushed dirt off his feet and stood up to begin work on his shirt. Oh, this was not happening. The being he’d been desperately attracted to for thousands of years was not undressing him; was not about to see him naked. No, no, no. 

_It’s just a corporation,_ Crowley thought, as Aziraphale peeled off his shirt, which was stiff with sweat, dirt, and the remnants of spilled drink. _What does it matter?_

But, of course, it mattered to him. 

Aziraphale’s hands on his skin made him break out in gooseflesh, every inch of him going horribly warm. His cock stirred, and Crowley twitched involuntarily. 

Immediately, Aziraphale dropped his hands. “Are you alright?” 

“I…could you, uh, turn around for a moment? I can get these off myself.” 

“Oh, of course. Terribly sorry, dear boy,” Aziraphale apologised, and turned his back. 

Hurriedly, Crowley removed his hose, careful not to touch his dick, which certainly didn’t need any further stimulation. He rose to his feet carefully, moved to the tub, and dropped himself gracelessly into it, splashing water onto the floor. He folded his legs under the water, hoping Aziraphale wouldn’t see anything. “Alright, I’m good.” 

Aziraphale turned around and took the cloth Livinia had used on him before, then dipped it into the water. He produced a sliver a soap from somewhere in his clothes and began to scrub at Crowley’s shoulders. “I’m certain you’ll feel better once you’re clean,” he commented. “I know I always do. Perhaps once you’re back to your old self, you’d like to go to the Alcazar with me? I don’t know how long you’ve been in Cordoba, but it really is a beautiful sight.” 

“Don’t know that there are any beautiful sights left around here,” Crowley said, relaxing under the angel’s touch. “Not for me, anyhow.” 

“We’re sick at heart too, you know. Livinia and I,” Aziraphale said. “She said the last battle she was in wasn’t nearly so hideous to behold.” 

“Battles are fairer than this. They’re just reaching into people’s lives, hauling them out, torturing and killing them for believing the wrong thing.” He shook his head as Aziraphale began to clean a wine stain that Crowley hadn’t even known was there from his chest. “What does God think of all this, anyway?” 

“The Almighty has been silent on the matter, at least to me. Close your eyes.” Crowley obeyed, and Aziraphale dumped water over his head and began to wash his hair. “Here,” he said, pressing the cloth and what remained of the soap into Crowley’s hand. “You can take care of…your other areas.” 

Crowley felt himself flush, but began to wash the rest of his body as Aziraphale attended to his hair. Once he was clean, he snapped his fingers to miracle his long locks dry and stepped out of the tub, wrapping himself in a towel. “Thanks for looking after me, angel,” he said. He really did feel better now that the refuse of a solid week of drinking was gone. 

“Of course, my dear. I’ll let you get dressed.” Aziraphale smiled. “I’m ever so glad to see you, by the way.” 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

Aziraphale gave him another kind look and left the room. 

Crowley trembled slightly as he dried off, not from cold but from an uncomfortable mixture of nerves and desire. Aziraphale’s hands had touched his bare skin; the hands he’d spent centuries staring at had bathed him, kneaded at his sore muscles, cared for him. Aziraphale had come when he’d needed him; had been there to help him. His heart was pounding again, more aflame with love than ever. 

Crowley was sorely tempted to fall back onto the bed and have a quick wank fueled by the memory of the angel’s fingers soothing his body, but he mastered himself and pulled on the clothes Aziraphale had brought for him. He’d leave those thoughts for later. For now, he had an angel who wanted to spend time with him, and he wasn’t going to waste a moment of that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback please!


End file.
